“The bairn’s bread will never be missed,” said Uncle Sandy, leaning upon the back of the sofa where Martha sat. “Ye must come with me, bairns, for a change, and stay a while in Ayr to rest your minds, poor things!--and Martha, my woman, you have mony a hard thing to do--you’ll have to see Miss Jean.” “Ay, uncle,” said Martha, “and I hear there is somebody in Edinburgh besides; it’s only about money, Agnes: nothing to vex you, my poor bairn; and you must trust me with all. Will you go with my uncle, Agnes?” “If _you_ will, Martha,” said the poor little invalid, holding by her indulgent nurse. “I will come for a day,” said Martha; “but now I must learn about business,” she added, with a faltering smile, “and take order for many things. I cannot be long away from Allenders. Rose will go with you and the bairns. You have the bairns, Agnes, God be thanked! to comfort you.” And Rose, who had not spoken, again held up the baby, who stretched out his hand to pull his young mother’s cap, and crowed and laughed in her face, struggling to reach her arms with baby glee. Poor little unconscious fatherless boy! Very strange looked this impulse of infant joy among all those sorrowful faces; and with a burst, which none could restrain, they all bowed down their heads and wept. All of them, from the old man sobbing aloud behind the little couch, and Martha, no longer able to preserve her self-control, to little Harry, struggling stoutly as he looks upon them all, and breaking out in a loud shivering sob before the tears come; and it is some time before they can recover themselves--before the invalid is carried to her bed, and watched till she falls asleep, and they all disperse to do what they can, and conquer themselves. Martha and Uncle Sandy wait in the library for Charteris, who is to return to-day, bringing with him an account of poor Harry’s debts--and their consultations are very grave; and you can fancy that on Martha’s brow, care takes the place of sorrow--for no one knows the deep life grief, undisturbable and still, which lies at the bottom of her heart. Martha treats Agnes as if she were the principal sufferer; comforts Rose; soothes and consoles the very children, but does not say what she feels--that to all of them lie other interests, other hopes, and gladnesses within the world which they still are only entering--whereas herself sees nothing in the future but a monument of good fame, honour, and charity to be raised over Harry’s grave. This is the end which, proud of him, and jealous for him still, she proposes to herself, caring little what obstacles lie in the way; and Uncle Sandy understands the wish, but doubts in his heart, in spite of all his faith in Martha, and cannot see how she is to accomplish it.